Introducing “Dear James,” a New Advice Column

A re you something of a mystery to yourself?

Do you suffer from existential panic, spiritual fatigue, libidinal tangles, and compulsive idiocy? Are your moods beyond your control? Is every straw, for you, the last straw? Do you suspect, from time to time, that the world around you might be an enormous hallucination? Do you forget people’s names and then worry about it terribly? Do you weep at bad movies but find yourself unaccountably numb in the face of genuine sadness? Is stress wrecking your complexion, your joints, your digestive system? Do you experience a surge of pristine chaotic energy at precisely the moment that you should be falling asleep? Are you doing much too much of this, and not nearly enough of that?

In other words: Are you a human being?

If so, “Dear James” might be for you. Beginning September 17, I will be addressing readers’ problems in a weekly advice column. I want to hear about what’s ailing, torturing, or nagging you. Please submit your lifelong or in-the-moment problems to dearjames@theatlantic.com .

By submitting a letter, you’ve agreed to let The Atlantic use it—in part or in full—in our magazine and on our website. We may edit for length and clarity. All submissions will be published anonymously.